Hope for Redemption
by The Final Conduit
Summary: This was his life, the man thought as he sat in a moving car. His wife was as stereotypically forgiving as could be on the surface, yet beneath that, she was so cold and calculating that it was no wonder that she was a killer. Now that she'd set her sights on another life, with him being a tagalong, how far would it take him to put his foot down? Ayano's Dad/Ryoba


This was his life, the man thought as he sat in a moving car.

One word couldn't describe how he felt then.

As his wife drove to the airport, the man couldn't describe how he felt at all.

It wasn't that he didn't know the exact emotions he felt.

There were quite a few emotions he felt as he sat in the car.

Shock, outrage, disbelief, and anger were the ones he could most distinctly make out.

But there was something else that lingered in the back of his mind.

It was worry.

As a father, he instinctively worried about his daughter, whom his wife forced him to leave behind, also worrying about her safety.

What was to say that nothing would happen to her while her parents were gone for an unforeseeable amount of time?

Though they had a large amount of money in their savings, a last minute trip to the airport like this would be extremely costly for one person, let alone two people.

His savings were nothing but a twig that held up a burden that rivaled the Titan Atlas' with the state they were in.

How long would their money keep them going until it ran out?

Sure, his wife said their jobs were secure, but still...

At the thought of what she said before rushing him to leave, the man felt a chill run up his spine.

 _"Don't worry darling. I've already called the boss and informed him that we need to take a little trip."_ She had said, all with that damn empty smile on her face, _"He was... VERY... understanding."_

She had said that, as though she were searching for the right words to say.

He wasn't sure what to think of her words.

His wife was the devil after all.

Though there was a chance that his boss really HAD been that understanding, the chance was slim.

Common sense would tell anyone that.

What kind of boss would be perfectly willing to let their employee go if said employee's wife phoned in and said she and her husband "needed to take a little trip"?

The idea was ridiculous.

No one in their right mind would do that.

Yet, knowing what the woman sitting next to him was capable of, the man clenched his teeth ever so slightly.

Why did this monster have to be his wife?

The answer was something he was well aware of, but this never stopped him from questioning it almost every hour, everyday of his life.

The difference for that specific moment, however, was the fact that he often involved God in his questions.

That question would be somewhat understandable for anyone who genuinely knew his position.

 _God, what the hell did I do to deserve this monster becoming my wife?_

This was the question he often thought, all implied bitterness and subdued fury intact, even after 17 years of marriage.

But then, he would often reason to himself, he HAD said "I do"at the wedding when prompted by the priest.

It wasn't as if he had much of a choice in the matter to say the opposite though.

His family had all been present, and with the priest himself being in such close range to her, the man could only think to say "I do" in that moment.

He never felt a greater time when his bottled up stress and rage would manifest itself in the form of tears.

How fitting a time, he thought, for him to cry as badly as he had in front of his entire family.

Anyone would think he was simply overjoyed at finally "being spiritually united with his soul mate" or some romantic garbage like that.

But he knew better.

Only _he_ knew better.

His tears that day hadn't been of happiness, or, for that matter, of any emotion that could remotely resemble happiness.

Every negative emotion he felt, had bottled up for fear of it being another thing that would cause her to bring him pain, had overflowed and overwhelmed him.

Sadness, depression, despair, anger, disgust, hatred, and, most of all, helplessness, rolled into one colossal ball of emotion, all caused him to cry that day.

The only solace he could make in his broken mind was that if he went through with it, no one would get killed again because of him.

But he was wrong.

Oh how horribly wrong he was.

It never stopped.

The monster who sat next to him, Ryoba, the very same woman who was renowned for her helpful attitude and kind demeanor, had been killing people for two decades straight.

No amount of protest from him would convince her to stop.

All she ever said was that it was because someone was threatening their supposed "love" for one another.

That was all it took for him to stop.

For Ryoba, expressing "love" was no different than going to the damnedest of extremes to prolong the inevibility of her being seperated from him.

Whether it was killing a school girl he often saw, who probably had as much romantic interest in him as a cat and dog would, to quite stalking him for every possible second of his and her life, she would always do it, without fail, all because of the one-sided "love" she felt for him.

If it hadn't been for the monster next to him being the center of all the hatred he felt, he would've pitied her for how desperate she was.

Someone so desperate to not have their "love" taken away that they would be willing to ruin countless people who had nothing at all to do with each other just to keep him isolated to her.

The idea of such a person existing would sound almost romantic to a person if they read it on paper, yet, to him, the idea was not as pretty as it probably would.

The metaphor, "he/she loves me so much that they'd kill for me", was not as joyful a thing to experience as one might imagine.

Though, the man reasoned, the use of the word "literally" would often never even reach a person's mind when speaking on the metaphor at all.

"Darling, what's wrong?" The woman next to him spoke, breaking him from his lapse of thought. "You seem deep in thought."

"Just hoping that we don't get a lot of hate when we go to the States." He lied with a such a calm and straight face that he was still unnerved by it decades after he started lying to his own wife about his feelings, "After the whole thing during World War II, I imagine some might have some feelings passed down from then."

"There's no need to worry about that," she replied, the chirp of a lark during the sunrise, "Though it might work in our favor if we aren't allowed into the U.S."

With a glance at Ryoba, the man could tell his wife was in deep thought.

He looked away, masking the bitterness in his tone with casual curiosity, "Wouldn't that mean that we would've wasted a lot of money for nothing then? Last minute flights are never cheap you know."

"Oh darling, don't you worry about that," she smirked playfully at him, eyes still mindful of the road in front of her, "If we don't get into the States, there's no possible way the person I'm after is going to be sent in."

"What makes you so sure of that?" He asked.

What would the conversation look like, out of context, he wondered.

Would there be the slightest hint that could be taken that instead of Ryoba and himself being the typical parents that were often intentionally left out of some poorly written comedy story revolving around said parents' child that the mother was a serial killer without a drive for empowerment and the father was a gutless wreck of a man?

The answer would be no, the man thought to himself.

"Because if he gets stuck with interviews, then I can go about killing him all the more easily." Ryoba said, with a still all too empty smile on her face.

Or maybe not.

He allowed himself a physical sigh.

"I get that you're excited to see your old pal again, but don't do anything too reckless. It wouldn't be good for you to slip up after all these years of killing." He surprised himself with how naturally casual his response came.

Maybe he'd finally started going numb over the guilt of letting a person get murdered because of him.

The woman's smirk returned to her face, as though challenged, "My, my, it almost sounds like you're actually willing to let me go through with killing someone. Is that right darling?"

"After all these years, you get used to this sort of thing." He replied honestly, his heart racing now.

It was hard not to start giving up when Ryoba kept torturing him every time he protested, he thought dryly.

She sighed, as though relieved, "Thank goodness, I don't have to worry about that anymore then."

There immediately came the powerful temptation for him to comment on how surprising it was to hear Ryoba speak about actually having human emotions, but with just enough willpower the man managed to keep his mouth shut.

Instead, he spoke with curiosity, "Does that make you happy?"

"Yes, it does. It makes me feel happy to know you're finally accepting me."

So she noticed how much he hated her after all? Ryoba truly was his stalker.

"I actually started to get scared that you'd eventually leave me." Ryoba continued, there being joy in her voice.

If he could, he would've decades ago, he replied, once again only mentally.

"But if this is a sign of your acceptance, maybe it's actually a good thing that I met up with my old friend now." She gripped the driver's seat, smiling moreso than before, "Now I don't have to worry. All I have to do is tie up this one loose end and it'll be like starting fresh."

Was there actual determination in her eyes just then, or was it an act like everything else?

He blinked in slight surprise when he saw that she was pulling over in a to the side of a busy street.

"Ryoba?" He looked at her curiously, "This isn't the airport, why are we stopping?"

"Just give me a moment to collect myself..." Ryoba replied, and when he looked at her, he found that her head was thrust against the headrest of the driver's seat.

Falling from her closed eyes were now tears, tainting her blissful expression.

"Ryoba? What's wrong?"

Why did he sound worried?

"It's nothing. I'll be okay in a minute."

"How can I believe that if you're crying?"

Ryoba never cried.

Why was she doing it now?

"I'm sorry. I'm just so relieved..." She wiped her face of her tears, new tears flowing from her eyes even then.

He watched her for a long moment, then spoke, "You really were that worried I'd leave you Ryoba?"

"Yes." She said, "It's all pretty hard to do on a daily basis."

"I can only imagine." He said with sincerity.

"Yes, that's right." She breathed then, slowly in her nose, quickly out of her mouth.

To think only one offhanded comment could make her like this.

And all it took was him admitting to her that he was becoming an monster by choosing to be the bystander in the death and social destruction Ryoba always left in her wake.

If Ryoba were a person instead of a monster, he would be able to understand her crying.

If someone going as far as to say they'd be okay with someone killing would be enough to relieve them, then that really would be something worth crying over.

The sad thing was that he had a strong suspicion that Ryoba wasn't anywhere close to being that pessimistic about the matter, especially compared to him.

They were an odd couple really.

On the one hand, you had the wife, who was as stereotypically nice and forgiving as could be on the surface, who held her ideals in ways that were anything but down to Earth.

Beneath all of that, she was so cold and calculating that it would not only make the best military generals pale in comparison, but would make them feel ashamed to call themselves by their own rank with Ryoba in the world.

Who else could orchestrate a false suicide, a framing for a mass murder, and keep a job all at the same time, with no signs of this happening from her?

He, on the other hand, was the stereotypical image of a husband if one took a surface look at him. He was hard working, cared (as deeply as possible) for his family, and tended to be the down-to-earth minder to contrast his wife's outlandish ideas.

And, mirroring his wife, he was barely those two of those things beneath that.

He lacked the backbone necessary to stare the killer that was his wife down and do everything within his power to stop her from killing. And even if he never attempted to stop his wife from murdering someone, he could never escape the fact that the murders would always be his fault.

Though he never held the knife used for stabbing, the fact that he existed had been enough to warrant another person's death.

Oh how greatly he loathed the woman in front of him.

"I'm sorry, we need to be going." Ryoba said, breathing in a last time before shifting the car into Drive.

His hand had found its way to hers however, placing it on top of hers.

"Wait," he said, his voice calmer than he thought possible, "If you aren't feeling up to going, we should stay."

She looked at him, surprised, then shook her head, "No, we need to get going."

"No we don't." The man grasped handle and shifted the car to Park to cement his point, "I don't want you going there if you aren't ready."

"But..."

He looked at her, meeting her gaze.

"I can't let anything happen. This can wait."

"No, it can't." Ryoba grasped his hand with force, trying to shift the car back to Drive, but her husband persisted, there being a struggle between the two.

"Ryoba, I can't afford to lose you over something like this. You're acting too strange right now."

Even as his heart hammered in his chest with fear, the firmness within the man's voice was genuine.

She was too emotional, too human-like, to go through with murdering then.

It didn't take him long to see a pattern.

A day would often go by where Ryoba was questioned by police, and days prior to then, there'd be a few days where Ryoba seemed more emotional than usual, and other days where she'd seem almost robot-like.

What typically happened was that Ryoba would leave more evidence on the more emotional days than the emotionless ones.

He didn't speak out of concern for her however.

He was a parent after all, and that involved masking one's own feelings and desires for the sake of one's child.

Nothing would have made the man happier than to see Ryoba get dragged off by the police, complete with the same hysterical look of panic on her face that would mirror all of her framed victims, but there was still their daughter to think about.

Even if she was nearing her adult years then, the man wouldn't let Ayano see her mother that way.

He wouldn't risk her going international and doing this sort of thing when their daughter's safety was at risk.

For a long moment, the struggle between the two continued, with the conflicting forces strengthening.

Then, when Ryoba stopped, pulling her hand away from the handle, the man relaxed his grip on it, keeping his hand there nonetheless for fear of her doing this to bait his guard down.

He watched her for a moment more, seeing if she still seemed too emotional for killing, him dismissing the self-disgust he felt at his ability to sense this.

Ryoba crossed her arms patiently, yet he wouldn't budge his hand at all.

He wouldn't until he was sure of her.

Feeling the silence however, he spoke again, "You know, you don't need to do this."

"Do what?"

"You don't need to kill others to keep me around. "'Til Death do us part" remember?"

Ryoba smiled at that.

"Yes, but as humans, we easily tend to fall short of promises. I'd rather not risk it."

"But there's no need for that. What's the point of calling this a relationship if you don't trust me?"

"Oh darling, it's not that I _don't_ trust you. It's that I _can't_ trust you."

"Why? Because you tying me to a chair and killing people made you doubtful?" His voice was devoid of bitterness or scorn.

It only had curiosity.

She seemed a bit taken aback at that, but regained her composure a split second after.

"Maybe so."

"Well, that was twenty years ago. Frankly, I can't do anything about that. What you can do now though is stop killing people and just trust me. If I don't have any reason to leave, there won't be any problems, will there?"

"Maybe."

"Then maybe you can do the world and yourself a favor and stop mass murdering people."

"Why are you saying this now? You usually don't put up this much of a fight." Disappointment tinged her tone then, "Is it because we're in public? I'm not a forgetful person, if you think I'll let it go."

He knew this all too well.

Resistance to securing the safety of their so-called "love" always resulted in torture.

And yet, for some reason, the man momentarily lost the ability to care.

"I just want to be with my wife, not a serial killer."

"One problem with that darling: I'm both of those things."

"Not really. With you it's almost like you're leading some double life. And since it feels like it's catching up to you, leading a regular life seems much more to your suit."

"And here I was hoping you'd accepted me."

"If I haven't by now I never will."

She clenched her teeth at that, "Is that so?"

Her tone was ice cold, but still the man couldn't falter.

"Yes. I say that to say, I've already accepted you."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying to you."

"Yes you are. You're just saying you've accepted me because you're scared."

He looked at her, eyes filled with aggravation more than anything else, "Is that so? Why haven't I gone off to alert someone then?"

"Because you know I'll just feign innocence and only make you look dumb."

"Why haven't I tried to run away then?"

"Because you know I'll find you."

"Why haven't I tried to hurt you back?"

"Because you know the punishment will be worse if you do."

"Are you sure that _I_ know that, or are _you_ just imagining that I do?"

"What are you getting at?"

"I'm saying that you killing people isn't necessary. I'm still going to be here whether you suspect me or not."

"But how can I know that for sure, if I don't kill people?"

"Because you're not letting yourself be sure. Killing people just shows that you're desperate to keep me around instead of showing that you love me. Don't you get that?"

"And what if I am desperate?" She spoke, her voice now yelling, as she glared at him.

He gave no answer, yet showed no surprise.

"I'm desperate for you because I need you. You don't know how it feels. Before I met you, I didn't feel _anything_! I always acted the same part of some stupid girl. I pretended to have emotions when I had none! That was my entire life! Then I saw you and suddenly I..." She faltered in her speech, looking down, "I... I could feel something... For the first time in my life, I _felt_ something. Instead of being this hollow shell of a girl I felt happiness. Do you know what it's like, going through your whole life like that before finally having emotions, before something comes along that could take that away from you?" Tears had welled within her eyes, falling down as she glared down at her legs, "I needed you... Nothing scared me more than losing you. Do you honestly expect me to not kill anything in the way of that?"

He narrowed his eyes, "Alright. I understand you being afraid. But at the same time, I can't understand your way of going about it."

"What was I supposed to do? Talk to friends I don't have about how emotionless I am as a person?" She said with a large amount of sarcasm.

"No. What you could've done is talk to me."

"Do you think I never tried?" Ryoba asked, eyes boring deep into him, "I tried again and again, but..."

"You were never able to." He finished her sentence.

He could remember it.

Ryoba walking around him, looking at him strangely, seeming to have something to say but never saying anything, staying until she would suddenly run off.

Before she'd kidnapped him, that was the most contact they ever had.

"Yes." She looked down, eyes narrowing.

"I see." He sighed, "You didn't have to do that. You could've tried sending me a letter, tried something."

Ryoba clenched her fists.

"I wanted to do that, but I..." She closed her eyes, "I was scared you'd reject me."

He watched her silently.

"I couldn't do anything... I was too scared to lose you, and I was too scared to lose you because you didn't want me. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to be a regular person. I didn't want to go back to being emotionless again, with the emotions you gave me gone."

He looked down for a moment.

"Ryoba."

"I didn't know what else to do. First I killed someone, and then I tried to talk you but..."

"Ryoba." He looked up at her now.

"I couldn't. I would just get so nervous, and my body just wouldn't function right..."

"Ryoba." He grasped her shoulder, her looking at him now, "It's alright. You don't need to worry anymore."

She held his gaze for a long moment.

"I'm still afraid now." Ryoba admitted, more to herself than to him it seemed.

"You don't have to be. Right now you're only proving my point. Killing people who get in the way of your love for me is proving that you're desperate. I don't want that for you. I want you to be happy. I don't want you to act as though I'm some drug you're addicted to. I want you to be happy, not dependent."

Ryoba looked up at him, and in that moment, the man could see the young girl who had been too nervous to talk to him, stammering for her words before running away.

Then she closed her eyes, "Okay," breathed in deeply, then released a huge sigh, then opened her gray eyes to look into his again, "Okay. I'll stop killing people. I won't be desperate anymore."

The man found himself smiling, a warm, loving smile, and he leaned himself closer to her, his hand leaving the handle against his better judgement, and pulled her into a hug.

"Okay. That's what I like to hear."

Ryoba looked over her husband's shoulder, at the handle, put into Park.

Now she could move it.

Her husband wouldn't stop her then, if she managed to change it quickly enough.

And yet, she only stared at it, her willing her mind to do it, yet finding herself unable to.

Ryoba looked again at her husband, still embracing her, and she lifted her arms, wrapping them around him and closing her eyes.

Her heart pounded within her, and she closed her eyes, the tears she felt none for an act, and tightened the embrace the two had.

They held each other like this for a long moment, ending only when her husband pulled herself away from her, his hands reaching up and cupping her cheeks, "We don't have to kill your friend, do we?"

Ryoba's answer was silence, her tear stained eyes glancing over at the handle, still putting the car into Park.

He read the answer from her expression, yet didn't respond with disgust or anger.

His tone was only filled with disappointment.

"Tell me why."

"He's been following me, stalking me. He probably thinks I'm out to kill him, considering how fast he left."

"You _were_ out to kill him a minute ago."

"Yes, that's true. At this point I doubt he can be reasoned with though."

"What makes you say that?"

"He's the man who almost got me arrested for the people I killed."

"Oh." Her husband looked away at that.

"Yeah. Not exactly the person you want to forgive for ruining your career, right?"

"I can understand that. Is there any way to fix this? You know, _other_ than killing him?"

"I can't say. I don't know exactly how long he's been stalking me. I just figured it out recently after all."

"Is that why he's running now?"

"Yes. And all I did was say hello too."

"Really? That's _all_ you did?" Ryoba looked up at her husband's skeptic look, and smiled bitterly.

"Yes. I tricked him into going into an alley, said, "It's been a long time, Mr. Journalist", then smiled at him, ."

"How did you smile at him?"

Ryoba showed him her best "doll face" then, and his reaction was instant.

"No wonder he ran away. That look is downright creepy."

She managed a bitter laugh at that.

"So no, I doubt there are a lot of ways to keep him silent other than killing him."

Her husband looked down at her, then sighed again.

"Are you sure it's the only way?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

"Yes."

"100%?"

" _Yes_."

Another sigh.

"We need to talk to him first. See if he has any evidence that you've killed anyone thus far."

"And if he does?"

"Convince him to give it to us. Then we are going to finance his and our trip back home. And then we will never speak to each other again."

"He was stalking me. Are _you_ 100% positive it'll be as simple as that?"

"It's going to have to be. It's his life we're talking about here."

At this point, the man had removed his hands from her cheeks.

"And if it isn't going to be as simple as that?"

"I will compromise with him. I am willing to do anything within my power to keep this from turning into a murder trip. I will keep this as a wild-goose chase and a colossal waste of money, and that will be the worst of it. We will not be gone for more than a few days."

"Okay. If you say so." Ryoba sat in her seat, grasping the handle and shifting it into Drive.

"I mean it Ryoba."

"I know." She pulled the car out of its temporary parking space, driving away again.

He watched her for a long moment with a wary gaze, only for his expression to loosen into a small smile.

Hopefully things would go as well as planned.

Maybe it was a good thing he was being dragged on this trip after all.

Now he at least knew enough about his wife that he could see her in a more positive light.

As he looked out of the window, despite his thoughts, he couldn't help wondering why the sky had to be as cheery as it was then.

* * *

A/N: And done.

A lot longer than I'd imagined it being, but oh well.

This is basically just my take on what I imagine Ayano's dad feeling after he's forcibly brought along with Ryoba to go the America. That was the original plan anyways. Then I started giving Ryoba dialogue with him and now...

Aw well.

I'm considering making this a multi-chaptered story, but I don't know if I should yet.

Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
